Cuba Libre Redux – Waking Up to Reality

I awoke confused.  Some of you might posit that you have never seen me in any other state but opening my eyes I see only varnished teak slats three or four inches directly ahead and I do not know where I am.  I have taken many, many long transits via planes. trains, and cars to weird corners of the world and awakened confused and needed a few minutes to determine where I was.  That has never happened to me on a boat regardless of the length of the passage.  So this is a bit worrisome since the last two day’s sail has harshly reminded me of my advancing age.  Suddenly it comes to me that I am in Cuba and age advancement no longer troubles my conscious. Adrenalin and expectation are wonderful antidotes to old age symptoms. 

  

Billowing clouds and a deep blue sky greet me on deck.  The wind still howls but we are safely in harbor and the palm trees bending to the wind are a graceful exclamation point to a brilliant first January day in Cuba and we have errands.  Changing money in most foreign countries is quite straight forward.  You go to a bank or money changer and do the exchange.  Depending on your tolerance of tediousness the exchange rate will not be an issue.  It is slightly different in today’s Cuba.  The government has installed a two tier money system in which tourists use one type of peso and residents use another.  The tourist peso is worth about $1.25 while the resident peso is worth about 15 cents. Citizens may not use tourist pesos when they purchase something but instead must turn it in to the bank for resident pesos.  A clever system to insure tourist money whether dollars or euros or anything else is all funneled through the government owned banks.  Remember there is no private property or private business in Cuba, everything belongs to the State.  (in the past two years, the State has allowed citizens to open 'palidars' which are merely a restaurant you operate out of your living room or back yard)  The State takes a 50% profit tax (they do not call it  "profit") but still, it is income the family would not otherwise have. Will this change with the pending influx of US tourists?  Of course, but control by Raoul is not going away anytime soon and the State will have its cut of every financial transaction be it groceries or cigars or taxi rides.  

Taxi to Old Havana

We need to stop at a bank on our way to downtown Havana and exchange some dollars for Tourist Pesos.  We must also remember that US law currently allows US citizens to spend only a total of $400 per person while in Cuba.  There are ways around this but since we are in a gray area vis-a-vis our travel permits to begin with, we will see how far we get before investigating less legal exchange methods. Upon entering a Cuban bank, you must first be admitted through the locked door by a minder.  When he lets you in, he will take you to a waiting area and point out another waiting customer.  Your turn will be after that person.  Do not forget that person or miss when they go up to a teller window because you may not get another opportunity for a long time.  Everybody waits and watches because the lines were long every time we went regardless of the time of day or location of the bank. Yes a simple numbered ticket dispenser would work but there are few mechanical devices in Cuba that are not in desperate need of replacement parts that are non-existant.  And this method is replacement-part free and quite inexpensive if one does not consider the minder’s salary.  That is the beauty of the Communist system… everyone has a job. One need not ask if it is a job that needs to be done, suffice that someone receives a salary paid by the government who in turn, gets paid by every financial transaction including those of tourists.  OK that’s your dialectical materialism lesson for today.  And we are still five miles from downtown Havana.  But we now have pesos to spend.  Stay tuned...  or not.  

Arrival in a Semi-Forbidden Land

Last Night in US Waters

I would like to report that the above pix accurately depicts our last night in the slip at Marathon but it would be a lie.  We posed this and then spent waaaay too much time loading supplies for a three week cruise.  It is always tough to start any trip without last minute gyrations

A good many of you, I know, are bored by sailing stories and so I will not bore you with the getting to Cuba part but rather, offer a few observations of the Island by Your Man in Havana. (Apologies to Graham Greene for the semi-plagiarism)  Or full disclosure, actually ‘Your Man in Hemingway Marina’ which lies about eight miles west of downtown Havana. Hemingway Marina is currently the only option for a small sailing (or power) vessel to enter Cuban waters and come ashore.  Also, the marina is closed starting at dusk and only opens again at dawn.  No one in, and most importantly to Cuban officials, no one out under cover of dark hours.  We had spotted the lights of Havana the previous dusk but were too far away to make the entrance to Hemingway before it closed so we spent the night in a raging gale 20 miles offshore.  Another story for another time. We finally located the actual marina entrance channel at dawn through mist and light rain while the wind had subsided to a mere 25 knots.  We did have some concerns that the channel entrance would remain closed given the breath of breaking seas assaulting our only path to a calm harbor.  Our concerns were not alleviated by our inability to raise the Port Captain on the radio for permission to come ashore.  When finally he did respond and gave us permission and direction, his comment in excellent English was to use care because the channel was quite narrow and dangerous.  We of course knew that from our sailing guides but getting out of what had been a washing machine of violent motion for the past 12 hours was uppermost in our minds and having had some personal experience with narrow channels and foaming water, I felt confident with Mike at the wheel.  The actual entrance (which we took at hull speed I am sure, surfing down five-foot rollers at the beginning of the marked channel), was anti-climactic because the sailing guide‘s definition of “a dangerous, narrow entrance” was not my own.  We easily slid between the eight-foot breaking seas on either side of us by a margin of at least ten to fifteen yards.  Then, without warning, the violent boat motion suddenly stopped as we slipped into calm protected waters.  The previous night’s rough passage and bruising toss-about was now merely fodder for future captivating bar tales.

Tying up at the customs and immigration dock, we were apprehensive.  TALARIA was an American vessel in a port forbidden to us for fifty years.  Even today we were in a gray area regarding our legal status.  Melanie had wasted hours attempting to get US permission to go to Cuba before we left and finally was told by the Coast Guard, “Just go.”  We recorded that phone call… and we left.  Now we were where the rubber meets the road as my driving friends would have reminded me.  Two young men in uniform with sidearms somewhat hidden by rain slickers efficiently tied us up and motioned for us to follow them into Immigration.  ALL of us… including the two women who were, as they phrased it, “not ready for public viewing.”  I have gone through a hundred third world customs offices in my various travels and I forced myself to remember the rules I was taught by some un-named State department individual a hundred years ago during a different life.  One… smile.  Two…  smile.  Three… look them in the eye.  I mentioned the rules to Mike since he was first as Captain and when he stepped out of the room, he gave me the thumbs up.  The primary question asked was to face the camera so the facial recognition software could get a good look at us.  Our smiling Port Captain and Immigration official was exceedingly courteous going so far as to stamp our Cuban visas on a piece of paper which he gently inserted in our passports with a knowing glance to each of us, thereby eliminating any possible embarrassing moments with US Customs upon our return.  A very encouraging start to our visit.

Tied Up in Cuba

We motored to our assigned slip location and tied up under the watchful eyes of two young men and an older gentleman who would perform our “health inspection.”  This was a thorough poking into every nook and cranny to ascertain we had brought in no black market goods intended for re-sale.  Under cloudy overcast skies, three of us remained on deck while Mike and the Inspector went over the interior.  In spite of having no illicit goods, Mike felt the need to offer a small “gift” to speed our access to the now steady and un-moving bunks so we could all garner some desperately needed, quiet shut-eye. TALARIA was secure but the wind still howling through the nearby palm trees went un-heard by any one of the four of us for the next five hours.  We had arrived in Cuba.  And we were WELCOME!   

CUBA LIBRE REDUX

Okay, okay, I owe all of you a “yuuge” apology (sorry Donald) for abandoning the CUBA LIBRE series of blog posts so abruptly but I fully intend to resume the series in the next week or two.  This, in spite of being a tad outdated now that US airlines are beginning daily service from the US and Starwood Hotels has signed a deal with the Cuban government to bring several Havana hotels up to American tourist standards.   Many of you have asked “Where is that  ASS^*%* especially since he has force-fed us his teasers about the Cuba travel blog and then just stopped posting without any warming?”  Fair enough.   Explanation follows.  The picture below delineates where I have been every single day for the past three months.  In a lead-lined room in the basement of a hospital flat on my back while many rads of invisible rays penetrated my nether regions, hopefully killing a plethora of persistent cancer cells.

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Although it has been difficult for me to concentrate on my writing since my diagnosis, three good things have evolved from this ordeal.  First, it re-iterated to me that tomorrow is NOT guaranteed.  I shall never forget this maxim.  Second, it made me eternally thankful for access to excellent health care through my Medicare. My diagnosis was the same one that killed Kristine’s brother-in-law at age 47 many years ago before there was a life-saving treatment for it. Thirdly, the one most important in my eyes is the fact that I am the luckiest guy alive to have so many true friends who selflessly offered to help in any way possible.  And of course, to Kristine who was a saint, driving me to and from the hospital every day, putting up with my moody silences and rapidly disintegrating energy levels but forcing me to look forward regardless of my circumstances at the moment,  I can only say thank you and I will try desperately to make it worth your while!   

Graduation Ceremony

Monday the 15^th of August 2016 was a day of good news for me…  Graduation Day!  My last day of radiation and hormone treatments capped off with my hospital’s ritual ceremony where all of my caregivers gather to congratulate me and share a hug while I ring the ceremonial bell before I leave this place hopefully forever, never again to shuffle along those antiseptic corridors disappearing into those cavernous lead-lined rooms.  My oncologist has informed me that I will have many future years in which to write more bad books and harass any and all who disagree with my personal world view. ( I guess he knows me well). I fully accept that this news will have mixed reviews amongst y’all.  

In the immediate aftermath of my diagnosis, Kristine suggested we set a goal to look forward to after my long period of treatments ended and so we booked a three week trip to China as a little reward to ourselves.  I have already warned my son there will be no inheritance, to which he replied that it was not news to him!  I will now concentrate on regaining some strength and stamina before leaving for China later in September and try to catch up on my moribund correspondence files.  Let me take this opportunity to say thank you to all of you who have wished me well and once again apologize for my less than adult behavior in shutting out the world while I attempted to get my head around the fact that I am merely mortal.  I continue to grapple with the “humility” component of that concept as I am sure, many of you can well imagine, given my personality.  But… today IS the beginning of the rest of my life.  I intend to LIVE it… every single day!   Okay, I’m done whining now.   Let's go to Cuba! 

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

25 Dec 2015 –Friday  (Christmas Day)

One of my very best friends, Chuck, is obsessed with the concept of “tradition.”  Throughout the many years of our friendship, I have acquiesced to many of his attempts to establish “a lasting tradition” (his phrase… is there any other kind?) amongst our respective families.  We have spent a series of December 26^th’s walking and shopping on Chicago’s Miracle Mile, more than a few July 4^ths in, of all places, the hot and humid Sarasota, Florida and a whole bunch of others lasting both shorter periods of time and longer. Regardless of how long they last in years, they are indelibly marked in my memories and I sincerely hope this idiosyncrasy of his continues ad infinitum.  In spite of my incessant whining about weather or having to get off my couch, we have always had a delightful time and would gladly continue any of these observances if it were not for the intrusion of life, which all too often, gets in the way of living.

This 2015 Christmas morning I am happy to report that two traditions have endured for me… one very old and one moderately new.  As I have mentioned, I love to cook and the newer Christmas Day tradition is preparing my special Christmas Omelet for Kristine and myself for the past fifteen years or so.  Yesterday we splurged on bags of fresh seafood but also bought several large, meaty King Crab Legs.  Cracking the shells and swiftly sautéing the meat with shallots and garlic swimming in butter, I put that aside and prepared a four egg omelet base.  Filling the omelet with the sautéed crab meat and topping it all off with slices of ripe avocado, Kris and I sit down at our teak table in the main salon to savor this rarity.   And this is where the second, much older, tradition comes into play. 

Growing up, my maternal grandmother, born in Slovenia (tiny country nestled between Austria, Italy, and what was then, Yugoslavia, now Croatia), lived with our family until my early teens and did much of the cooking for my Mom and Dad, who both worked, and my brother and myself.  Needless to say, we ate many dishes that came out of my grandmother’s ancient cook book files but one of my favorites was the holiday treat we knew as “Potica.” Pronounced “poe-teet-sa,” it was a rolled pastry containing walnuts, honey, raisins and flecks of cinnamon.  The recipe unfortunately died with my grandmother before I became interested in cooking and my Mom, (one of the world’s worst cooks, and yes she would readily admit to that title) never bothered to salvage the ancient cookbook.  So since my thirties, I have tried without success to duplicate the delicate balance of those ingredients and have always been rewarded for my efforts with inedible chunks of unrecognizable glop either baked to black or dripping all over the inside of the oven.  As you may have surmised, I am not a baker.  Then many years ago Kristine and I hooked up and of all things, her heritage derived from the same Slovenian town as my grandmother.  What’s more, Kris’s sister, Natalie, made a Potica almost identical to my grandmother’s.  And this Christmas morning, Natalie had wrapped a substantial portion for us to be opened on Christmas Day.  It is the absolutely perfect accompaniment to our omelets.  There are no pictures to show you simply because I refuse to allow a special meal to grow cool while I snap a photo.  Priorities, priorities! 

The rest of the day is preserved for being lazy.  We take a leisurely walk in the 75 degree sunshine and inspect all the boats in Turner Marina and the Dog River Marina next to us.  We hang a photo, a Christmas present from my son Kevin, in a prominent spot on AURORA.  It is a photo he had taken while on a 140 foot schooner on Lake Michigan. 

Memories of my sailing youth return

He has too often heard me tell stories about sailing on a square rigger when I was still in my teens.  I believe his giving me this thoughtful gift was a way of saying, “Got it Dad, don’t need to hear that story one more time.”  I feel lucky to have a son who exhibits a passion for his interests, be they deep diving, photography or whatever. People without passion are boring and I refuse to spend time with bores or boors.  Time is a finite quantity for all of us and the one sad note of the day is our long time friend and travel companion, Peter Seeger, has lost his battle with Parkinson’s and has succumbed this very morning. With heavy hearts, Kristine and I spend the balance of the day carefully re-packing the Mini with Cuba passage necessities. Tomorrow we will drive the Florida Panhandle checking out potential marinas for AURORA while making our way towards Marathon and our friends, Mike and Mel, aboard TALARIA.  With more than a few warm tears sliding down our cheeks, the point is driven home … do not, DO NOT put off your bucket list adventures.

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

24 Dec 2015 – Thursday (Christmas Eve Day)

        Rained all night but surprise…. no leaks on AURORA.  It even appears to be letting up somewhat for this Christmas Eve day. My nerves are still a bit jumpy watching the flood water rise towards the Mini last night.

But no destroyed Mini Cooper

        I love to cook.  I love to eat more than I love to cook and my waist line is ample proof of my priorities.  I particularly like to cook, eat and drink on holidays.  This Christmas away from family and friends will be a bit different but I see no reason why my other priorities should not hold their place in my lifestyle choices.

Santa will visit tonight

Shucking oysters, savaging an overflowing bowl of shrimp, slathering pate on a crusty French bread and drowning it all with a cold micro brew is THE perfect brunch, particularly because we are in shorts and tee shirts.   As I watch the years slide by, I notice I prefer to watch the slide from a warmer clime rather than a snow bank.  

I am beginning to understand the entities known as Arizona and Florida.  In spite of the incessant rain, Kris has secured tickets to Bellingrath Gardens for the Festival of Lights which boasts 3 million lights artfully placed over 65 acres of formal gardens, river frontage and a small lake.  Originally a rustic cabin and a fish camp for Mr. Bellingrath, the new Mrs. Bellingrath had more grandiose plans. 

Luckily (or with prescient foresight) Mr. B invested $1500 in a new company called Coca-Cola and obtained exclusive rights to half of Alabama.  Called a fool by his friends at the time, they repeatedly asked him what idiot would buy soft drink in a bottle when you could get it easily at the soda fountain?  And who in the world would ever drink it during the winter?  He persisted and even was the instigator of all those ads with Santa holding up a Coke. Furthermore, he fast-talked a cousin and a brother into doing as he did and for many years thereafter, if you bought a coke in Alabama or Louisiana or half of Texas, you bought it from Mr. Bellingraph.  And Mrs. Bellingrath spent your money on changing a fish camp into a stunningly expansive (and expensive) estate and formal gardens. 

Now agreeing to go to see a garden with a few colored lights did not exactly light up my evening plans but there are things one does to maintain equilibrium within relationships.  It has taken me more than a few decades to learn how to say, “My Dear, I’d LOVE to go out on a rainy, misty Christmas Eve to walk through a winter garden of trees without leaves,”  and say it with conviction.  Being a fiction writer, I have learned the art of lying convincingly as some of you have previously witnessed.  Here’s the irony.  I unconditionally loved the show and although they proclaimed 3 million lights, I believe they grossly under counted.  I simply hate it when Kristine makes a mockery of my know-it–all expectations.  And it didn’t rain while we were walking amidst the leaf-less trees either.  Insult to injury by my way of thinking. 

Cannot believe I am smiling

One of 50 trees in a lit grove

My cheap camera does an injustice to color

Some of the trees are 50-60 feet tall

The sea world walk way

The engine is 15 feet tall

Returning to the marina, we were in time to share a night cap with a group of boaters finishing up a pot luck dinner and I gifted those who wanted one, a copy of the Fayal Roads book as a little Christmas present.  Kristine and I completed the day devouring a tiny tin of Foie Gras sent to us by my good friend, Henri, from La Rochelle, France while sipping glass of Slovenian wine given to us by Kris’s sister, Natalie.  All in all, a spectacular Christmas Eve day far, far away from home.  Weather could never dim the light in our eyes after a day like today.  

Smiles, a perfect ending to a perfect day

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

23 Dec 2015 -  Wednesday - Memphis to Mobile

Weather plays an inordinately large role in my Cuba Libra Chronicles and it started while leaving Memphis this AM.  A light rain under deep overcast skies did not prevent Kris from forcing me to drive to Graceland.  (for those of you across the pond, Graceland was Elvis Presley’s Memphis Mansion)  Sure, I remember Elvis but I never threw my underwear at him while he was on stage like some people I know.  An interesting phenomenon at Graceland did come to my attention however.  

Scratchings

What is it about painting, drawing, scratching or carving one’s initials on any available surface that I do not understand?  Marking territory I understand, but 99.999% of the Scratchees will never return to look for their handiwork. Furthermore, no one cares that your scratchings are about you.  Everyone cares that your scratchings are taking up space I could be using for my own scratchings.  From whence comes this undeniable urge?  Is there some transference of fame, talent, or magic from Elvis (or whatever location) to the Scratchee that I am unaware of? I know it has been going on since Paleolithic times… (see Lascaux in southern France, et.al.) but I guess the gene carrying that memo is missing from my DNA. Regardless, I found this the most interesting part of our short Graceland visit and thought about it for several hours as we drove south through more rain.  We both were puzzled by a weird electronic beeping noise from Kris’s I-Pad.  Finally solving the mystery, we realized it was a severe weather warning in her Weather Bug App.  We had driven directly through the area affected and had not seen the two tornadoes that took half a dozen lives that afternoon.  Suddenly my ruminations about graffiti seemed quite petty.  It was a severe storm just as predicted by NOAA and warned by the Weather Bug app. 

You know you have arrived in the Real South when Po Boys are the first listing on the menu and we enjoyed excellent sandwiches at Penn’s, in Meridian just before getting to Mobile and the boat.  I have been a little worried about AURORA not having been here since November.  NOAA weather has shown enough rain in Mobile the past couple of weeks to float the entire state of California.  AURORA has spent her entire life protected from water falling out of the sky.  First in LA (because it NEVER rains there) and then in Kentucky where she lived under a tin roof that kept her dry even in the winter. Boats have a tendency to dry out under those circumstances and AURORA was no different. The two days of October rain while bringing her down the Tombigbee proved the truth of my worries and I spent quite a few hours locating and plugging leaks around windows, hatches and deck seams before I left her in November.  Now the two or three weeks of rain in Mobile would put to the test my effectiveness as a waterproofing expert. 

Still afloat and waiting

 It is not a good sign when you splash into the pilot house and water flows over your shoe tops.  The small deck in the pilot house is sealed completely so it did not run down onto the cabin sole but it did fill up the seat next to the starboard window.  Obviously the space between the sliding glass windows was the source since the prevailing winds would drive water into the opening between where the glass panels overlapped.  OK, we can fix that.  Checking below in the main cabin, I saw one small stain across the floor from a drawer to the forward hold hatch cover.  Going forward, there were no apparent leaks in the forward cabin at all and so off to the aft cabin.  A small leak had appeared from the starboard aft porthole above the bed, but I had anticipated that one because of a dried out o-ring seal and had placed a makeshift catch basin under it so the mattress was ok. Returning to the main cabin, I checked the drawers under the bench seat and found the middle one had two inches of water in it. Obviously there had been more because all the canned goods stored in that drawer had illegible or missing labels. Hmmmm, some cooking surprises will result no doubt.  But where in the world was the water coming from?  And why was only the middle drawer inundated?  Every boat owner knows this dilemma intimately. The actual leak will never be in an obvious location nor one easy to access. The water will travel the length of the boat if need be to confuse and frustrate my attempts to locate its source. 

After cleaning up the standing water, sealing the leaky window and guessing at where the canned food drawer water came from, Kristine and I opened all the hatches and allowed a warm breeze to aerate the interior.  Mr. Sun had come out to welcome us back to AURORA as well and life could be worse.  And sure enough, it got worse.  An overnight heavy rain kept me awake and getting up every hour or so to watch the flooding water creep up towards our car.  It was parked exactly where Brett’s car had been totaled by flooding just a month ago.  Car déjà vu?   About 2 AM I got up, put on a light foul weather jacket, went out and moved the car to higher ground.  This vacation is starting out with more stress than I had anticipated.

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

22 Dec 2015 - Tuesday - MKE to Memphis

Three days before Christmas and what could be better than to start a boat adventure with a road trip?  In my mind? Not much!  I personally have never been a slave to holiday convention, my Dad being a fireman for the city of Milwaukee for 25 years, so we celebrated whichever holiday whenever he was not working. Missing a holiday by a day or two or three was no big deal in our family.  In some families, however, it is a very big deal.  I learned that lesson many, many years ago when I convinced Kristine to accompany me to Thailand for a three week vacation that just happened to fall over Thanksgiving.  She had spent every Thanksgiving of her life celebrating with her family or with the Brother and Sister-in-law at their magnificent Thanksgiving Dinner Extravaganza.  Tradition or not, she agreed to go with me and we spent that particular Thanksgiving dining in a famous outdoor restaurant abutting the Golden Triangle in Chang Mai, Thailand near the border with Myanmar, nee Burma. As in many South East Asia restaurants, the day’s fresh ingredients were on display in large woks as one passed into the dining area proper.  Kristine’s eyes relayed her horror as large insects and big bugs were the main course in several of those huge wok pans.  Her First Thanksgiving Dinner away from family was going south fast.  Rushing her past the last few display woks we ultimately tasted and savored several spectacular dishes but she never got up the courage to sample the deep fried larvae.  When Kris relayed the day’s events to her rellies, her brother and sister-in-law did not speak to me for months afterwards.  Not only had I absconded with her to violate their life-long tradition but I forced her to eat bugs on a hallowed holiday!  

Times have changed since the close-knit family of her youth has been severely depleted by age and today, leaving before Christmas Holiday was her first choice.   And so, after packing Oreo off to my son’s house, loading the Mini Cooper well beyond any reasonable load limit, we pointed the car south towards Memphis, our first stop.  Situated on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River, the city has several claims to fame other than Graceland. Thanks to our good friend Chuck’s Memphis cousins, we were admonished to not miss three of them.  

Logo of distinction needs explanation

First, the Peabody Hotel, an elegant old dowager with a rooftop attraction and a 360 degree view of the heart of the city.  The roof top attraction was the gilded glass enclosure (aka “duck palace”) for a small flock of ducks who march through the hotel lobby every day at five o’clock to the patio.  Following a uniformed bellhop, they start on the roof, trail him onto the elevator, exit on the first floor, waddle resolutely behind him through the packed bar and lobby amid the stares and camera flashes of a standing room only crowd of tourists to their early evening spa.  To say pampered would be a gross understatement. 

Off to the roof

 

We should all have a "duck palace"

The second “do not miss” entailed my favorite event…  food intake.  The Rendezvous is an old time Memphis BBQ legend.  One can find good BBQ throughout the southern half of our country (and some places north of the Mason –Dixon line) but one should NEVER pass up the opportunity to experience a “legend.”   Picture taken just prior to letting out my belt one more notch. 

Rendezvous deserved the "legend" sobriquet

 It is a short walk to famous Beale Street and the raucous mixture of Memphis blues and country music emanating from the myriad bars lining both sides of the street.  The vision of this window display of fanciful toilet seats would haunt us in Havana.

Cover up

 The New Orleans Latin Quarter immediately came to mind. As luck would have it, we were able to discover a couple of cold draft beers, two warm barstools and a hot country band on stage.  

Selfie aim distorted by beer intake volume

Beale Street after closing

Not a bad way to spend the first night of one’s sea passage, even if it was “only” 60 degrees this late December night!.   We Yankees are easy to please. 

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

PREFACE

I am a slow writer.  I make many changes, multiple corrections, and take sharp turns to port and starboard as I write about my chosen subject.  I also take mucho time to let the events affecting my subject matter percolate and distill in my head. I would make a horrible newspaper writer and have great admiration for those who are able to observe, record and write under deadline. It is not my skill set. So to those of you (and there have been a few) who knew about my sailing trip to Cuba and have been bugging me about reports concerning same, this is for you.     

As much as I had looked forward to and subsequently enjoyed AURORA’s passage down the Tenn-Tom from Kentucky Lake to Mobile AL, I had one more adventure niggling away at the back of my mind even as Kristine, Brett and I floated down through the center of our great country.  Back in the summer of 2015, friends we had met when AURORA first arrived in Kentucky a year prior asked if I had any interest in sailing to Cuba with them for a few weeks on their boat, TALARIA, a cutter rigged Tayana 43. They did not have a great deal of sea experience and I think they felt having an experienced ocean sailor along made some sense.  And also, we liked each other, always a plus in close and constrained boat spaces.

         For my part, I salivated at the opportunity to re-visit a place I had seen once as a pimple-faced teenager in 1961.  Furthermore, as a published journalist, I qualified now under the current US rules regarding US citizens traveling to Cuba.  (the rules seem to change every couple of days)  And, Cuba plays a role in a follow-up sequel novel to my Fayal Roads epic of several years ago that I am finally working on again. Details needed to be worked out but I desperately wished to make that passage. In situ research and a chance to see Havana again before it becomes Starbucks and Mickey D’s South (and it will because big money always wins) was the overwhelming impetus to make it happen.  
              And so it has.  The CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES begin now, so stay tuned my friends.

Havana skyline is best seen from a distance

    As with all of my Roger’s Rants, opting out and getting off my mailing list is easy and pain-free for you, if not for me.  I hate losing even one reader.  Personal failure still bothers me even at my ¾ century mark.

 Day Seventeen -  Wednesday - Big Bayou Canot to Turner Marine  

A swollen anchorage but little floating debris

This morning our river anchorage is swollen from the rain Patricia dumped to the west and north of us but the floating debris in the current is not severe enough to delay our final day’s run through the city of Mobile to Turner Marine down Mobile Bay. An errant minuscule rain shower slips by us in mere minutes and the morning sun glistens off AURORA’s rapidly drying raindrop splatter.

Soon to be sunny Mobile, AL

Running the river through the heart of Mobile is a perspective unavailable to land based visitors and at once confirms my opinion of this city as a blue collar, working port. Tens of barges, riding high sans cargo and just as many riding deep laden with unseen loads, line the shoreline for mile after mile as we pass through the port. Ocean-going ships come and go on a daily basis sustaining our globalist economy.  

Downtown Mobile, AL

Working port

           Heading out into Mobile Bay, I spend a few moments looking at the new nautical chart in my chart plotter and realize this bay is shallow everywhere except in the shipping channel.  I miss those steep drop offs along the Pacific Coast.  Another milestone occurs as we reach the Dog River channel marker that will lead us into our new marina.  We must wave goodbye to VELA NARCOSIS because she is continuing on to the Gulf Inter-Coastal Waterway and ultimately to her annual wintering anchorage, Key West.  

          It is difficult to say goodbye to Dennis and Wanda but I will visit friends in the Keys in January when we will sail to Cuba and I will look for VELA NARCOSIS in that outlying mooring field.  We have unfinished business.   

      The trip into Turner's is uneventful and after tying up, Brett and I begin the more mundane task of dealing with a flooded car (declared a total loss by the insurance company and so we have to rent a car to return to MKE) and cleaning the boat from several weeks of bachelor detritus. 

I am not a glib speaker.  I am not a fast writer.  It has taken me longer to chronicle this small adventure that it did to actually live it.  I do, however, give serious effort to writing words that resonate for me and within me.  Exempting paid-for words, I write about thoughts that are personal and meant for my personal edification.  My favorite analogy is the one I just recently described regarding anchoring.  Just as I endeavor to set my anchor so the boat does not slip into dangerous waters, my writing is intended to “set” my memories so they do not flitter off into nothingness. I am probably going to be an unhappy Oldzeimer’s patient where no memories at all float through my head.  In the interim, these postings have acted as my memory “anchor” and now this phase of my life passes into memory the way I wish to remember it. The words have been for my benefit and I am ok with how they are strung together. Yes, I sent it off to a few of you, not so much out of self-aggrandizement, (of course there is some ego involved)  but more so in the recognition that I have a plethora of fascinating friends who often are interested in those small details of life that are just a bit out of the ordinary.  I hope some of my writing fits that description and more than a few of you are entertained for a moment or two. 

          With AURORA having reached her new temporary home, it was indeed the journey and not the destination for me and Brett.  I will return to writing my RK Rants & Fine Whines to those of you who have asked to be on that other tiny list. (Hah, and I do mean tiny but I would love to add you to the list. Just ask and ye shall receive) while I contemplate where, when, and if…  AURORA and her captain loose the dock lines attaching us to everyday life.  Thanks to all of you for reading, and especially thank you for all those kind notes expressing delight at receiving Aurora - East of Eden posts.  Wishing you fair winds and calm seas, I eagerly look forward to catching up with you face to face in your home port.  Anchors aweigh!       RK

My familiar friend welcomes AURORA